A Day in the Life
by WhoLockGal
Summary: A collection of one-shot (and/or mini-series) stories that fall somewhere within what I'm currently referring to as the Swaddled 'Verse. It all began with "Swaddled in Pink" and later led to the now complete "Fish Tales". Stories placed here will fall somewhere within that universe, showcasing various events in the lives of Rose Tyler and Sherlock Holmes. RoseLock pairing.
1. Fade Into You: Part 1

**A/N: Happy FanFiction Friday, one and all! I am excited to celebrate this fine day with a new offering. ****This story takes place about 2 years after _Swaddled in Pink_, and 15ish years before _Fish Tales_. The incident here is mentioned in _Fish Tales_ though, and by the end will give a whole new meaning to several scenes in that story.**

**It is important to note that this story started as a one-shot. It truly did. And then I spoke to my person (hi, angeli0722! you've been outed!) and it completely grew from there. We'll call it a mini-series now. A story in 4 parts. Anyway, my person is a big supporter of 1) huge elaborate back stories for characters, and 2) "the crazy" so this is for her. Complaints? You all now know where to send them.**

**Countless thanks also to TheWheelWeaves (as always) for putting up with _my_ crazy, for encouraging and pitching in when needed, and for her mad beta skillz. Too many commas, I know.**

**Also thank you to veritascara for previewing the beginning and answering some medical questions for me. That's the part that I was least sure about for this one...**

**And now on with the show!**

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**Part 1: Pain & Suffering**

Sherlock rested his head against the taxi window as the car approached Baker Street, completely exhausted after yet another game of cat and mouse. This latest case had stretched on for far longer than he would like and no end was currently in sight.

As he stepped out of the car in front of the flat, he was vaguely aware of the sound of police sirens that were quickly disappearing around the corner. Fleetingly, he wondered if it was something he should pursue, but after the night he had all he really wanted was to kiss his wife and take some time to disappear into the wonderful oblivion that was listening to his daughter's slow, steady breathing as she slept.

Unfortunately, neither of these options was in the cards.

Opening the front door, Sherlock was met with the unmistakable sound of Jacqueline crying. Only she wasn't upstairs in her room, but instead appeared to be with Mrs. Hudson. Rushing to the landlady's rooms he all but snatched the sobbing toddler from the older woman's arms.

"What happened? Is she hurt?" he demanded, giving her a hurried once-over. Having satisfied himself that the child was fine, he kissed her head and held her close, hoping to calm her down a bit.

"Thank god you're home, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson sighed, her hand over her heart and a look of deep sorrow on her face. "It's Rose..."

"Where is she?"

"You just missed them. Greg put her in the car to head to St. Bart's-"

The sirens. He knew that he should have followed them, and yet he came inside instead. "It's too soon," he breathed, his thoughts suddenly struggling to catch up with what was happening. Handing a marginally calmer Jacqueline back to Mrs. Hudson, he turned to run for the door. "I have to go."

"Of course," Mrs. Hudson agreed. "Just let me know what happens, and give Rose my-" she heard the door slam behind Sherlock. "Love." Sighing, she shifted the baby in her arms and headed for the stairs. "How about we get you back to bed, sweetheart? All will be well in the morning."

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

It took only a split second after Rose had doubled over in pain for Greg Lestrade to jump into action. One moment she was making tea in the kitchen as he waited in the sitting room for Sherlock to return, and the next he heard the sound of a mug shattering on the floor and a sharp yelp of pain. Without thinking, Lestrade gathered Rose up in his arms and hurried down the stairs, painfully aware of the sounds of a crying baby emanating from the opposite direction.

Rose was no stranger to pain, but she had never experienced anything like this. When she went into labour with Jackie the contractions had been painful, but manageable. This, though, was something completely different. She knew instinctively that something was wrong... She was only at 23 weeks, far too soon for labour to set in.

Vaguely aware of Greg barking at Mrs. Hudson to check on Jackie, Rose moaned as another searing pain jolted through her abdomen. "Sherlock," she hissed.

"Hospital first, Rose," Greg replied, carefully laying her across the back seat of his car, before hopping into the driver's seat. "Now to find your useless husband, yeah?" Turning back to smile at Rose, the sight that met his eyes made him turn on the siren and take off without hesitation: she was curled up into herself across the seat, her hands clutching her stomach and beads of sweat across her brow as she bit her lip and nodded slightly in response.

There were several unsuccessful attempts to reach Sherlock on his mobile - for some inconvenient reason it kept going directly to voicemail - before Greg decided to call John instead. "Come on," he growled as the phone rang a third time before someone finally answered.

"Greg?" John asked.

"Sherlock. Bart's. Now," Greg barked, swerving slightly to avoid an oncoming car. Glancing again in the rear-view to check on Rose, who only looked paler, he took a deep breath. "It's Rose."

"Oh, God," John breathed. "We'll meet you there."

Feeling somewhat reassured that John would come through on finding Sherlock, Greg tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. "Almost there, Rose."

Rose nodded mutely, her jaw tightly clamped shut against the pain. She could only hope that they would arrive at the hospital soon, and prayed that Sherlock would be right behind them. She experienced the vague sensation of the car coming to a full stop when a final blinding pain shot through her and everything went dark.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Sherlock tried repeatedly to reach Lestrade on his mobile, but was thwarted by voicemail every time. Armed solely with the knowledge of where they were heading, he was about to try calling Molly when a text message alert caught his attention.

_Where the bloody hell are you? ~JW_

He stared at the message for a split second, contemplating its meaning. More than likely, Lestrade had contacted John when he was unable to reach him directly. Which meant that John was at least aware of the situation.

_On my way. Three minutes out. ~SH_

Turning his attention to the driver, he realized that they were slowing for a red light. "£100 to run the light. Now _drive_!" he commanded. Yelling at someone felt good, it made him feel ever so slightly in control when he knew that whatever was waiting for him would be completely out of his hands. His mind reeled with every possibility, every scenario that he might face when he entered the hospital doors, and none were easing his concern.

Throwing a handful of cash at the driver, Sherlock raced across the sidewalk and into the old building. Normally, as he walked through these doors, he knew that satisfaction was close at hand. Now, however, he had a feeling that he would not be satisfied with anything he learned here today.

"Rose Tyler-Holmes," he barked at the nurse sitting behind reception. "Where is she?"

The nurse blinked up at him, but couldn't bring herself to be completely annoyed. "Sir, if you would please-"

"Where is my wife?"

"Sherlock!"

Relief. That was the only word to describe the feeling that immediately washed over him. Lestrade was here, which meant Rose was here. He would have answers. No, that wasn't right. If Lestrade was here in reception with him, then no one was with Rose. In the blink of an eye, the relief was replaced with dread. Taking in the man before him, he knew his instinct was correct. Lestrade was pale, he looked defeated as he stood there. But that was nothing compared to the blood stains on left side of his jacket.

"What happened," he demanded, nearly hissing through clenched teeth.

"They're not entirely sure," Greg replied. "But she's in surgery now."

All of Sherlock's carefully cultivated bravado suddenly disappeared. "Surgery?" His voice was barely a whisper, and he knew that he was radiating fear and uncertainty, but he couldn't be bothered to care. His Rose had been rushed to the hospital and now was undergoing some sort of procedure and he was not with her. "Where?"

Greg knew better than to start answering any additional questions in the reception area. Sherlock would want to talk to the doctors, see Rose for himself. So, instead of simply standing there, he led the man through the sterile corridors and explained what little he knew, what he had witnessed, until they reached the labour and delivery wing and a doctor could be found.

Arriving at the nurses' station, Greg was relieved to see that someone was already there waiting for them. Molly was standing there, a grave expression on her face, ready to run interference with the nursing staff if need be. After Rose was rushed off to the operating theatre, Lestrade knew that he needed to wait at the main entrance for Sherlock. However, he didn't feel comfortable leaving the wing unmanned. Knowing that Molly was in the building already, she was the only person that he could think of to call to take up his vigil as he went to find Sherlock - hoping that John was successful in his task.

"Sit down," she said gently, placing a hand on Sherlock's arm.

"Not until I see Rose," he hissed.

"You can't yet, Sherlock," she chided. "Her doctor will be out soon, but she's already been put under and they've begun the procedure-"

"What procedure!" he all but roared. Why was nobody giving him answers? "They can't operate without consent-"

"A placental abruption," Molly said quietly, effectively cutting him off. "They think she suffered from a placental abruption."

Sherlock stared at his friend in disbelief, not really seeing her at all. There was no reason why this should be happening. Collapsing onto the uncomfortable waiting room sofa, Sherlock took his head in his hands. As the minutes passed, he was vaguely aware of voices talking to - or about - him, but couldn't be bothered to respond. He needed to be with Rose, to see that she was alright. He felt the tremors in his hands begin to take hold.

Time seemed to hold no meaning for him as he waited for news of Rose and the baby. It might have been only a few minutes, an hour, or even a year for all that Sherlock noticed. All that he knew was that it felt like forever, and no one from the hospital had yet come to speak with him, to update them on Rose's condition. He looked up, somewhat surprised to find that their party had grown in number from simply Lestrade and Molly to now include John, Mary and even Mycroft. He tilted his head, peering suspiciously at his brother who nodded solemnly at the unexpected eye contact. Of course he was here - it was Rose. She brought them all together. This was their family.

Family. Jacqueline. It suddenly occurred to Sherlock that he had left her with Mrs. Hudson, who would no doubt be concerned about Rose as well. Thoughts like this never would have crossed his mind before, but now they were somewhat commonplace. He cared for these people, and knew that they cared for him. He just couldn't stand to be near them right now.

Jumping up, he started to pace the room, still ignoring those around him. He was anxious. Once upon a time, he would have willingly given this feeling over to the oblivion of heroin. For now he would settle for a cigarette. Just as he was about to make the foolish pronouncement, something caught his eye.

Sherlock's heart nearly stopped as he saw an unconscious Rose being wheeled away from him on a hospital bed. Everyone - and everything - else forgotten, he ran forward, pushing a nurse aside so that he could take her hand in his. It didn't escape his notice that her hand was icy.

"Sir!" the nurse admonished. "We need to move the patient into recovery-"

"She is not simply 'the patient,'" Sherlock growled, his eyes never leaving his wife's face.

"Of course not, Mr. Holmes. But we do need to get her into recovery before she can be moved to a private room. I promise, I will come and fetch you once she's ready."

"And the baby?"

"The doctor will be out shortly to speak with you."

Pain lanced through Sherlock's very core at her words. There was no mistaking the meaning behind them, no hope for anything other than simply surviving. He looked down at Rose, her face so peaceful as she was still under the effects of the anaesthetic, who had no idea what sort of heartbreak she was going to wake to. He released her hand and watched as the nursing staff moved her away from him and through another set of doors. All he could do was stand there, in the corridor, numb.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Rose sat in an armchair by the sole window in her hospital room, staring outside but not seeing anything. The doctors and nurses insisted that moving would be good for her, even if it meant simply walking laps around the central nurses station on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to do it though - seeing the happy faces of new parents in the ward, hearing the sounds of crying babies from the nursery - it was too much. Instead, she chose to withdraw into herself.

Sherlock entered the room as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Rose. Seeing her sitting by the window, he sighed with short-lived relief. He knew that if she was mobile the hospital would release her. The doctor had told him as much. She needed to get away from this horrible place; she belonged at home with him and Jacqueline. He could see that she was wilting before his very eyes, her very essence faded away.

"Rose," he said, trying to pull her attention. Kneeling beside her, he took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm. "Tomorrow, Tulip. You can come home tomorrow."

She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, but pulled her hand from his grasp. "Tomorrow," she echoed, her voice hollow and her expression blank.

"Tomorrow."

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Three weeks passed, and Rose hadn't spoken a word. Upon arriving home to Baker Street, she settled into an old recliner by the window of the sitting room and had barely moved since. She couldn't bring herself to lie in the bed that she and her husband shared, she couldn't face the stairs to check on Jackie in the nursery, she barely ate and hardly slept.

Sherlock did what he could to ensure that she was cared for: he brought her food, water, and tea; he encouraged Jacqueline to talk to her and bring her drawings; he carried her into the tub and bathed her. Yet somehow at her lack of response, her lack of improvement, he knew it wasn't enough.

One evening he finally reached his breaking point, and tried yelling at her. "You need to stop this! Snap out of it already!"

Rose simply blinked and turned her head away from him in response.

"I lost him too, dammit!" Bending down to lean against the arms of the chair, he looked her directly in the eyes. "He was my son too."

"And you can have a hundred more!" she screamed, breaking her silence for the first time. She pushed him away from her and stood, all but running to their bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Understanding flooded Sherlock, but before he could give chase, a cry sounded from upstairs. Apparently Rose had woken Jacqueline from her nap.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**A/N: Typical plea for reviews. They are always appreciated, so make me smile?**


	2. Fade Into You: Part 2

**A/N: Seriously, you all are the best! Already so many unexpected reviews/follows/favorites. I really do appreciate it. I know that things are a bit dark, but sometimes that happens in life... Please don't hurt me? **

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**Part 2: Mental Anguish**

It nearly broke Mary's heart to see her best friend so shut off from everything. She knew how much Rose had already lost, and to add not only the baby, but the hope of any future children to the list made her want to cry. Instead though, she managed to keep a neutral expression as Sherlock did something he never did: asked for help.

"I had hoped that being home with Jacqueline would help," Sherlock explained. "But I just..."

"What can we do?" Mary cut across. "Anything you need."

"She can't be alone, I can't... I can't trust her with Jacqueline. I came home the other day, and god knows how long she had been left crying as Rose just sat there. Mrs. Hudson tries to help, but she's less than ideal."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "If Jacqueline is unsafe-"

"You are _not_ taking my daughter."

"I merely meant that-"

"Enough," John interrupted. "The fact is that Rose needs help. She is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis. It's rare, but not unheard of, given the situation."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. You're a doctor, we know..."

"Mycroft!"

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

As had become her custom, Rose sat in the recliner at the window, her knees now tucked up to her chest, her eyes trained on the outside world but not seeing. Never had she felt so empty and alone, but that is exactly what she was.

She had heard the doctor's words in the hospital as he explained what happened. She understood that it was the only option to ensure her survival; that no matter what the baby would be lost. But knowing something, understanding the meaning of the horrible words, and living with the consequences of them were two completely different things.

This was her life now. She was to become one of those bitter, barren women. Sherlock would have no further need for her. He had been so excited to find out that they were to have a son, and soon enough he would want to experience that again. With someone else. Someone who could actually have his child. Not her.

More than anything, Rose longed for her mother. She would know what to do, what to say to make everything alright again. But that was the rub. Jackie Tyler didn't exist anymore on this world, and even if she did, she wouldn't be the same.

Hugging her knees tighter to her chest, a thought occurred to Rose. _What if there was a way?_

Once the thought entered her mind, it became the only thing that she could focus on. There was no way to predict when she would be able to make a go of it; someone was constantly with her and Jackie. If Sherlock was out, then it was Mary or John, or even Violet and Siger. Mycroft would stop by, but never to stay. From conversations she overheard she knew that Mycroft was keeping an eye on everything from the outside.

And then one day Rose had her chance.

John had just put Jackie down for a nap when his phone rang. There was some sort of emergency with a patient that couldn't wait. Mary was on her way to take his place, but wouldn't be there for a few minutes more. Against his better judgement, he asked Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on Rose and Jackie, calling Sherlock as he left.

Mrs. Hudson had just set a cup of tea next to Rose before stepping into the loo. The second that the door clicked shut, Rose sprang to her feet. Shoving clothes haphazardly into a small bag, she flew upstairs to Jackie's room.

Throwing the diaper bag over her shoulder, she gathered the sleeping child in her arms and ran down the stairs, pausing when she heard the flush of the toilet. Taking a deep breath she made her way through Mrs. Hudson's rooms and out the back door, knowing that Mycroft had eyes on the street.

Once in the alley she unearthed a prepaid cell phone from behind a dumpster and sent a text message:

_Bad Wolf howling in the wind._

Within 30 seconds, she had responses from nearly a dozen people, all with addresses of safe houses. Choosing one that she knew she could reach without touching a main street or passing a member of Sherlock's homeless network, she said a silent prayer that Jackie would remain asleep and left Baker Street behind.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Three days, seventeen hours, forty-two minutes, and 218 - no - 219 cigarettes later, Sherlock was no closer to finding his wife and daughter than he had been the moment he learned of their disappearance. Scotland Yard was useless, and Mycroft and his connections weren't far behind. There had been no sign of Rose or Jacqueline anywhere in London, not that he expected there would be.

He could feel his resolve shaking, the mania creeping its way into his head as he imagined countless scenarios of what might have happened. Would Rose hurt herself? Would she hurt Jacqueline? He didn't want to believe that she would harm her child, but after everything that had happened, after the last two months, he wasn't confident.

In the following weeks, Sherlock followed every lead he could think of, and each time the trail went cold. It terrified him to think that he might never see them again, but with her connections he was forced to admit that it was a very real possibility. He had suspected that her underground network was keeping her hidden from him, and he hated that there was nothing he could do about it.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

They had moved locations twice within the city that first night, but once Rose and Jackie were safely hidden away in a Shepherd's Bush flat, the real planning began. Documents were procured, transportation arranged, and smokescreens programmed for various security feeds around the country should anyone get too close. Everything was in place for their journey, and risk of being caught was minimal at best.

And so it was, six days later, that Rose finally felt a smile cross her face for the first time in nearly 3 months. Setting a squirming Jackie down on the sand, she relished in the glory of feeling the sun on her face, the salty air in her lungs. They had arrived in the one place on Earth that Rose felt might allow her the chance of seeing her family again: Dårlig Ulv-Stranden.

Weeks passed without incident in the small Norwegian town. Rose and Jackie - or Sarah and Toni, as they were known - mostly kept to themselves. Every day the pair could be found on the deserted beach, Rose sitting in the sand, staring at the familiar-and-yet-not dunes, and Jackie running and splashing in the surf or playing happily in the sand.

It was so peaceful there, but Rose still felt a darkness within her. At night, after tucking Jackie in, she would sit outside of their small room and allow her world to crash down around her. She was alone. She and Jackie, it was only them. She prayed to any gods that would hear her for a sign, for a mysterious crack, or a familiar mechanical wheezing. Anything that meant she could go back, go home. All that she wanted was the comfort that only her mother's arms would bring.

After a particularly horrific night of fitful sleep, Rose reached out to her comrades to inform them of her intent to return to England. The answers she had hoped for did not come, but there was still one more sliver of hope; one place she could go to beg for peace.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Six weeks. It had been six weeks since Sherlock last saw his wife, since he last held his daughter. He was beside himself, a shell of himself.

Cigarettes no longer offered any clarity, music no longer provided distraction. Alcohol never held anything for him. Apart from the relief that only seeing Rose and Jacqueline could provide, there was one remaining option.

He had chased everyone away, drawn the sitting room curtains, and sat silently in his armchair. Save for the small plastic bag that he flipped back and forth between his fingers, he didn't move a muscle.

The pull was so strong, the temptation so powerful. Oblivion. Nothing mattered anymore, not with things as they were. He could give in so easily, free himself from the nightmare that had become his every day. One taste and his mind would be free.

There were so many times that he was sure they had been found. Glimpses of Rose and Jacqueline on closed circuit security feeds, alleged eye witness accounts of mother and child traveling on a bus or train. None had panned out, none proven true. So when John threw open the door with a triumphant cry, Sherlock made no effort to acknowledge him.

"Get up," John commanded. "Mycroft has a plane- _What_ is that?" His eyes had trained onto the small packet in Sherlock's hand, snatching it away from him.

Sherlock did not respond.

"Where did you get this?"

Silence.

"How much did you take?"

Silence.

John forced the sleeves of Sherlock's shirt back, checking for puncture marks; pushed Sherlock's face up, checking his eyes to see whether his pupils were blown. He heaved a sigh of relief when neither sign was found. "Get. Up."

"Why?"

"She's in Norway, Sherlock. She and Jackie. Some small beach town in Norway."

Sherlock shook his head. He had already considered that possibility, already explored every channel he could find in the region. He refused to open himself to even the tiniest sliver of hope only to have the rug pulled out from under him. Again.

"You go," he said, his voice hoarse. "If you're so sure, you go. I'll just be here."

"And leave you here? Alone? With _this_? I don't think so."

"I don't need a babysitter."

John sighed, sitting down across from his friend. He tried to keep the pity from showing so plainly, but knew he wasn't completely able to succeed. "No, you're right," he agreed. "But you do need a friend. When is the last time you ate something?"

"I had tea..."

"Come on," John urged, getting to his feet. "Just come to the house, let Mary feed you. Mycroft can handle Norway. Then, you have my word, you can come back here to wallow. Without the drugs."

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Jackie toddled across the carefully manicured grass, pulling up dandelions and other wild flowers, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that was wreaking havoc on her mother. The area was deserted, which suited Rose just fine; she needed no further witness to her current mental state.

Instead, Rose focused her attention on the weathered stone in front of her, on the ground beneath her feet. A strangled sob escaped her lips and she collapsed onto her knees, no longer seeing the words engraved on the tombstone:

_Here lies Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler_.

"Mum," she choked out. "I need you..."

Rose wasn't sure how long she sat there, her grief so raw, her body shaking uncontrollably. All she knew is that seemingly out of nowhere she felt Jackie's tiny arms encircling her neck, her warm cheek resting on her shoulder.

"No cry, mummy."

"I'm so sorry," Rose whispered, pulling Jackie onto her lap and hugging her close.

Jackie reached up and carefully wiped a tear from Rose's face, her face scrunched up in concentration. "Daddy?"

"He's not here, sweetheart. But d'you know who is?"

Jackie shook her head - and the rest of her body - from side-to-side.

"That right there," Rose said, pointing to the gravestone. "That's my mum. This world's version anyway." A fresh wave of grief crashed into her at the words, and she pulled Jackie close. "I wish you could have known her, that she could have seen you even once. Oh, god. I'm so sorry, Jackie..."

Rose was at a complete loss. She had no idea what to say, what to do. She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. The only remaining link to her mother was held tightly in her arms, that warm bundle of energy that exuded life and promise and hope, none of which she herself felt.

Coming here had been a mistake. When Bad Wolf Bay failed her, Rose truly believed that she might feel some sort of absolution, some sort of reprieve at her mother's gravesite. But the fact was that this wasn't her mother. It was _a_ Jackie Tyler, but not _her_ Jackie Tyler.

No matter what she did, she couldn't outrun the demons that had taken up residency in her mind. Everywhere she turned she felt the darkness encroaching on her heart. It wasn't healthy. Not for her, and certainly not for Jackie. There was only one thing that she could think of to do.

It had to end.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**A/N: Typical plea for reviews. And yes, I know this is a horrible place to leave things.**


	3. Fade Into You: Part 3

**A/N: Happy FanFiction Friday! And again, thanks for continuing to read this story! **

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**Part 3: Resignation**

When Mycroft texted to say that Norway was a dead end, Sherlock was not surprised. He had warned them that there was no point to going, that it would be a wasted trip. If Rose had in fact ever been there, she most certainly would have disappeared long before they arrived to look for her. Sure enough, he was right. Sherlock tried his best not to think anymore. His daily life had become little more than coasting by on autopilot, simply going through the motions of things like eating and sleeping, that somehow managed to keep him alive.

The one routine that had not changed, not once, was going to sit in Jacqueline's nursery every night at 8:45pm. This was one of the only truly conscious decisions on his part, the only way he could think of to keep their connection alive. He would go into her room, re-arrange the stuffed animals around the edge of her cot, and sit in the rocking chair with what he insisted was her favourite book, _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_. Occasionally he would allow himself to fall asleep there, finding some much-needed peace surrounded by her things.

Making his way downstairs after a particularly bad night of sleep on the rocking chair, Sherlock was annoyed to find Mrs. Hudson flitting about in the kitchen.

"Go away."

"Good morning to you too, Sherlock," she trilled, bringing a steaming mug of tea over to him before heading back to the kitchen. "I've made breakfast as well."

"I'm not hungry."

"I didn't ask."

She continued to bustle around the kitchen, the clattering of silverware and plates and cookware almost more than Sherlock could bear. He stood by the front window and attempted to ignore her, not realizing until too late that she was standing right behind him of him, dropping the plate of hot food unceremoniously onto the desk at his side.

"You're dead on your feet. Now sit down and eat some breakfast."

Without a word of acknowledgement, he took the plate to his usual chair and tucked in. He didn't want to admit it, but he was actually hungry. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he ate any sort of substantial food.

"Thank you," he mumbled once he had finished.

"Of course, dear," she replied, taking the now empty plate back to the kitchen. "Now, you go and get dressed while I clean this up." She smiled slightly as she heard the click of his bedroom door. "I was thinking that it might be a good day to air the place out - it has gotten so stuffy in here, you've had everything practically sealed off. Perhaps try calling Greg and see if there's been a new murder? Or, you know, I think that I read something the other day about a possible terrorist ring. Something about anthrax? Then again, if that were the case, I'm sure Mycroft might have already called. You know, Mrs. Turner mentioned the other day that-"

She stopped talking when she heard Sherlock rush past her, and turned to look after him "Sherlock?"

"Going out."

Shaking her head and smirking at the sound of the front door slamming shut, she turned back to the dishes in the sink. That had been easier than she expected.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Sherlock walked aimlessly through the city streets for the better part of the morning. He kept his collar up, his head down, and avoided all known cameras, not wishing to draw any attention to himself. It wasn't until half-one that he realized his feet had carried him to the same place he had sat vigil just after Rose and Jacqueline first disappeared - when he knew that they weren't coming back - Camberwell New Cemetery, the final resting place of this world's Jackie, Pete, and Rose Tyler.

He and Rose had visited the Tyler family graves once before, when he first learned her name. She mentioned that she would occasionally come here to think, the peaceful surroundings calming her mind. While some people might consider the behaviour odd, he understood. After all, he often found a similar sense of tranquillity in the morgue.

Walking up to the headstone marked for Jackie Tyler - well, Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler - Sherlock bowed his head in an unexpected sign of respect.

"Mrs. Tyler… I wish," he murmured, and then stopped. What did he wish, really? Did he wish she were with her mother now? Maybe. But not if it meant that she wasn't with him. God forgive him, but he could not bring himself to wish her away from him, even in the abstract.

Did he wish her mother were here? Perhaps. But Rose had always been comforted by the fact that her mother was happy with Pete and Tony in the second universe- no longer living a life of want and perpetual fear, but a life of leisure and love.

Did he wish that he had never known her? That she had never come? That she had never wormed her way into his heart, opening doors that should have remained closed? That she was with her Doctor and her mother and her brother in another universe, and that Sherlock Holmes were still here- John and Mary living their lives, Molly living hers, only Mycroft to keep him company? No. He couldn't wish that. He did not have the strength. Even the thought brought him crashing to his knees at the foot of his not-quite mother-in-law's grave.

"I wish," he whispered again. That she had never fallen ill? That she had never left? That he… that their son… that he had never been? That she were happy? That she were home? "I wish I understood," he finally whispered to the air. "I wish I had been enough."

His eyes fell to the ground, caught suddenly by a bright spot in the overcast graveyard. A toy. A toy that he recognized.

Instantly alert, he knew that Rose had been here. He picked up the toy - a small stuffed otter with a deerstalker sewn on its head - and examined it closely. It showed no sign of having been left to the elements. Inhaling deeply, he could still smell her on it, Jacqueline. It was her favourite toy and she was never without it. But where had they gone?

Jumping to his feet, he turned a full 360 degrees, searching for any sign of the direction that Rose may have run. He felt his heart begin to race, could hear the pounding of it in his ears. His breath came in short, quick bursts. He knew that he was so close… He just felt it.

Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he quickly dialled Mycroft's number.

"Put your eyes on Brenchley Gardens. She's been here."

He hung up before his brother could reply, but it didn't matter. The message was clear. Rose and Jacqueline were back in London.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Sherlock spent the remaining daylight hours exploring every path that Rose and Jacqueline could have possibly taken from the cemetery. He went to the site that she had told him was the home of the Powell Estate in her original universe, he followed the streets up to Henrik's Department Store, and doubled back to her favourite chippie to no avail.

He checked in with both Mycroft and his homeless network at varying intervals, but neither had seen hide nor hair of Rose or Jacqueline. The fire of hope that had been burning through him for the last few hours, fuelled by adrenaline, was starting to fade.

Defeat was not something with which Sherlock had much experience prior to the last few months, but he felt its heavy burden once again placing itself upon his shoulders. He slowly made his way back to Baker Street, promising himself that he would comb the city alley by alley once he could arrange the manpower to do so.

Sighing as he reached the front stoop of 221b Baker Street, he opened the door, pocketing his keys and pulling the stuffed otter out of his pocket, planning to place it back in Jacqueline's room.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met him though, a sight that caused him to freeze in place. For there, sitting slumped over on the stairs in the foyer, was a sobbing Rose.

"Help me," she pleaded.

"Where's Jacqueline?"

Rose nodded slightly through her tears. Of course he would want to check on the well-being of his child, any good parent would. And that's what Jackie needed. A good parent. A great parent. Someone that would take care of her, make sure that she was happy and safe.

"Upstairs," she choked out between sobs. "Sleeping."

Sherlock's limbs suddenly unlocked. Before Rose knew what was happening, he had flown past her, taking the stairs three-at-a-time. He felt dizzy from the sudden surge of endorphins, releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding once he entered the nursery and saw her sleeping peacefully in her cot. It was too much for him to hope that she was alright, his entire world had nearly crashed down around him, but now here she was.

He silently bent over Jacqueline's sleeping form, breathing her in as he did so. He kissed her forehead and laid the otter beside her. A smile crossed his face for the first time in months as she muttered something unintelligible in her sleep, rolled over, and cuddled the stuffed animal.

Sherlock knew that he should let everyone know that Jacqueline was safe, that Rose had finally made her way back home. But before that, before causing the onslaught of people to come crashing upon them, he needed to talk to her. He needed to understand.

After brushing a stray hair from Jacqueline's face, Sherlock quietly left the room and closed the door behind him. It was time for answers.

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

Rose hadn't moved an inch since Sherlock left her to check on Jackie. She couldn't have even if she wanted to. She felt anchored in place, weighed down by her grief and guilt.

She knew when Sherlock returned to her, had heard Jackie's door shut only to be followed by the sound of him walking slowly down the two flights of stairs to where she waited. She didn't turn around to face him, but instead started talking when he was still several steps from her.

"She's all I have left, Sherlock. I know I took her, and I know it was wrong... It just hurt so much, losing everything. I need help, and I just didn't know what to do. Just promise me that you'll take good care of her. And that when you're done with me and...

"I want you to be happy and have the life you deserve. You'll want to be with someone who can give that to you, you should be with that person. And I know it's not me. Which is fine."

"Stop."

Rose paused in her monologue, unsure of whether or not Sherlock had actually spoken. "I know, and Sherlock, all I ask-"

"Shut. Up." This time, he spoke with more force, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her trembling frame. "You kidnapped her. You disappeared. You took _everything_ from me."

"And I'm so sorry-"

"You do not get to talk anymore."

Rose hiccupped her way to silence. Once Sherlock was positive that she would not speak again, he stepped down toward her. Sitting on the step beside her, he sighed, his heart broken after everything that had passed between them.

"I thought you were dead," he breathed. "It almost would have been easier if you were." He paused, torn between the conflicting desires of wanting to lash out at her physically and crush her to him and never let go. With his emotions in check, he continued. "I should call Lestrade. I should have you arrested. I should make sure that you are put away for the rest of your life."

"You don't have to do that. I'll turn myself in. And when you file the papers, I won't fight you. But do you think that maybe you'll let me see her sometimes? I need to see her. I know that's a lot to ask, but I will always be her mum and even when you both move on, I need to know that I can still have some time with her, but it doesn't have to be alone, yeah? I know, you can't trust me with her. Not like this, but maybe one day..."

Sherlock could hardly believe what he was hearing. He ran his hands down his face as he tried to make sense of it all. Before Rose, he never would have believed that he was able to love... That he would want to spend his life with someone, have a family with someone. Why would he cast her aside now? Simply because she could no longer have children?

"You're insane."

Rose's face fell even further, if it was possible. "I told you," she whimpered. "I know... I need help. But I can try to get better, and then maybe you'll let her-"

"Enough," Sherlock commanded, rising to his feet. He couldn't listen to anymore of Rose's nonsensical ramblings. She needed help- mental help that he was not fit to provide. But first... First she needed to sleep.

Pulling Rose up by the arm, he was surprised to see her turn for the door.

"I'll... I'll see you around, yeah?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he suddenly felt the fight in him die out. "For god's sake, Rose. Just go to bed."

Her eyes widened at his words. "But what-"

"I'll make the arrangements. But if you run, this is over. Do you hear me?"

Rose nodded mutely, too stunned to speak. Did he really mean to keep her after everything she had done? After everything she put him through?

"Thank you," she whispered, before slowly making her way up the stairs.

"Goodnight, Rose."

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**A/N: Typical plea for reviews. **

**Also, credit where credit is due: Sherlock's conversation with Jackie Tyler comes from TheWheelWeaves. I was stuck, and she was able to pinch-hit, creating words that my brain couldn't. THANK YOU!**

**One more bit to go on this particular story...**


	4. Fade Into You: Epilogue

**A/N: So many thanks to you all for reading this. And now the ending of this particular mini-series. **

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

**Epilogue**

Rose entered the community centre and felt her nerves on edge. She was later than intended, so her eyes scanned through the small crowd that had already gathered, looking for their familiar faces. Just as she was about to try calling, she spotted them by the stage and a broad grin appeared on her face.

Sherlock had knelt down to Jackie's level and was helping her into her ballet shoes. Making her way through the various families, she cautiously approached them, her hands tight around the bouquet she had hidden behind her back.

"Mummy!" Jackie squealed, throwing herself around Rose's legs and causing her to laugh. Sherlock turned, his smile mirroring hers as he pushed himself up to his feet.

"Did you bring it?" Sherlock asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Course I did," Rose said, pulling the bouquet of brightly coloured lollies out from behind her back and laughing as Jackie clapped her hands excitedly. "Are you set, sweetheart?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Well, someone is excited," a new voice said.

"Unca Mike!"

"Are you ready to make your stage debut, my dear?"

Jackie nodded, giggling as Sherlock swept her up in his arms in response to the call for "Places!"

"You have fun, sweetheart," Rose said before kissing Jackie's nose. "We will be right there in the front row. Look! Granny and Grinndy are already there, see?" Kissing Jackie's nose again, Rose allowed Mycroft to lead her to their seats as Sherlock carried her to the rest of the little dancers.

Once Jackie was safely left to the watchful eye of the ballet mistress, Sherlock joined his family. Taking his seat next to Rose, their hands automatically joined, their fingers interlocking of their own accord. The last year had been hard on everyone, but they had survived by leaps and bounds. He sighed contentedly, kissing Rose's hair as she leaned her head on his shoulder, and neither could stop smiling as the music started and their daughter took the stage.

_~~~Fin~~~_

**A/N: Typical plea for reviews. I hope that you enjoyed this! Now please do stay tuned for more... again, random one shots (or more mini-series like this one) will be posted here.**

**THANK YOU ALL!**


	5. A Rose By Any Other Name

**A/N: Hello again, dear readers! Here is another glimpse into the life of our beloved Rose & Sherlock, this one taking place a few weeks after their first meeting (referenced in ****_Fish Tales_****). **

**Several people have asked about the origin of Rose's "Tulip" nickname, so here it is, in all of its fluffy glory. This fluff was previewed by my person, angeli0722, and betaed by the incomparable TheWheelWeaves. I hope you all enjoy!**

~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~

If there was one thing that Sherlock Holmes hated above all else, it was being summoned anywhere by his brother. It was a waste of his time. Time which could be better spent focusing on the experiments currently underway in his kitchen or trying to unearth the mystery that was the Bad Wolf.

But, no. Instead, he was sitting in the back of a town car being driven to some as yet unknown location. In black tie, no less.

The car slowed as they approached what could only be their destination. Looking out the window for the first time, Sherlock took note of where they were as he recognized the elaborate front steps. They had arrived at the National Gallery.

Tents had been placed outside to block the view of arrivals from paparazzi, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes. He knew how frustrating the press could be, and often tried his best to avoid their prying cameras, but the lengths to which the museum had gone for this particular event seemed over the top. He doubted very much that there was anyone in attendance that would really warrant such behaviour.

Entering the central hall, Sherlock paused momentarily to take in his surroundings. He had, of course, visited the gallery on many occasions although never under these circumstances. He could hear the music of a string quartet off to the side of the space, the delicate clink of champagne glasses, and the constant hum of muted conversations taking place all around him.

He scanned the crowd in an attempt to locate his brother, and was annoyed when he was unable to immediately do so. His eyes passed over the faces of everyone else in the room, noting their various levels of alleged celebrity or importance within the Commonwealth and then dismissing them just as quickly.

Walking from one room to the next, Sherlock still saw neither hide nor quickly-receding hair of his brother. Until he found the dance floor. There, wearing a smile he could never remember having seen before, was Mycroft Holmes. But he was not alone. For there - smiling and nodding in Mycroft's arms as they made their way around the dance floor - was the woman that Sherlock had been trying to hunt down for the last few weeks. The Bad Wolf.

Sherlock stepped back, hiding himself amongst the party's guests that were lingering around the edge of the room, but making sure to keep the dancing pair in his line of sight at all times. Finally settling into a shadowed corner, he glowered at the two of them, determined to figure out what exactly their relationship was.

Mycroft wasn't one for public displays, and even if he was, Sherlock was quite certain that this woman was not who his brother would have chosen as a companion. From his own brief encounter with her, he was not surprised by the ease with which she carried herself, but instead by the forum and company in which it was presented. His eyes narrowed to slits as he watched his brother say something to the girl that caused her to throw her head back and laugh.

Everything that Sherlock had managed to uncover about the online persona of the Bad Wolf pointed to the fact that she was not one to be reckoned with. She was personally responsible for the release of several prisoners (although their exact details Sherlock was unable to uncover) as well as countless security protocols put into place by the US Government, the United Nations, Interpol, and several other sovereign states.

Based on this information, Sherlock was already quite certain that his brother was responsible for assuring her assistance on his earlier case. The fact that they were currently held secure in each other's arms on the dance floor merely cemented that fact.

Making his way through the crowded room, Sherlock never let the pair out of his sight. Well, not until he found himself standing next to Mycroft's trusted PA - _what was her name?_ - with her eyes focused on the mobile phone that never left her grasp.

"No," she said, not bothering to look up.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Pardon?"

"Not interested in a dance."

"I wasn't asking," he informed her, clearly enunciating each word as he snatched the mobile from her hands. "Although you might not want to use a government issued phone for your Fruit Ninja habit."

_That_ got her attention. She looked up then to see who was standing beside her, but bit back the retort that was forming on her lips when she realized that it was Sherlock. "Mister Holmes."

Sherlock gestured over toward his brother and the mystery blonde, both now standing still on the dance floor as the music faded into (brief) silence. "What do you know about her?"

"Nothing."

"Do you really want to play this game with me?"

She sighed, longing for nothing more than to be left alone so that she could go back to minding her own business on her mobile. "She and your brother have an understanding. She has connections and knowledge that he wishes to make use of, and he has some that she does. And occasionally she serves as his plus-one to events."

"And does she have a name?" Sherlock asked, his patience wearing thin.

"Something Tyler… Flower, Tulip, I don't know."

"Flower?"

"Maybe her parents were hippies."

Sherlock was about to snap at her for being useless when he realized that his prey was suddenly on her own and leaving the dance floor. Without thinking, he returned the mobile to its owner and made to follow the other woman, surprised when he lost sight of her in the crowd.

"We meet again, Mr. Holmes," the blonde woman said from his left, reaching past him to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Looking down at her he noted the playful smile on her face, just the tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth. He immediately dismissed the odd feeling that stirred in the pit of his stomach as simply a reaction to the thrill of the chase.

"Indeed we do, Miss Tyler," he replied, secretly pleased to note that her smile widened at the use of her surname. "And please, do call me Sherlock. 'Mr. Holmes' makes me feel-" he paused, his eyes scanning the room of their own volition until they rested on his brother. "Old."

"You're both rude, I see," Rose chided after following his line of sight, the amusement in her tone contradicting her words. "But if we are to be on a first name basis, you can call me-"

"Tulip?" Sherlock offered.

Rose smirked. "You've been talking to Cassandra."

"Who?"

"You really are so much like your brother," she answered, grinning at his slight wince. "Cassandra. Mike's PA, yeah?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth pulled slightly at the mention of Mycroft's most detested nickname. He knew that his brother barely tolerated it when their parents called him 'Mike' so the fact that this virtual stranger referred to him in such a casual and familiar way caused him pause. Then again, with Miss Tyler's _Bad Wolf_ connections, she probably knew certain things about him that even Sherlock didn't. Suddenly he saw her as an even more valuable ally to have.

"You've just decided something, I take it," she said suspiciously, correctly interpreting his silence.

Shaking his head slightly, he smiled brightly. "And you never answered my question."

"What question was that?"

"Your name."

Now it was Rose who shook her head. "Oh, I answered that. Cassandra doesn't bother to pay attention to anyone other than your brother."

"Meaning?"

"_Not_ 'Tulip.' Rose. My name is Rose."

Sherlock blinked in response. _Oh_. Suddenly he felt like an idiot - not a feeling that he was used to. He knew better than to trust the source of his (limited) knowledge, but Tulip simply seemed the more likely option over Flower. Naturally the useless PA would have only acknowledged half of the story. He would have to talk to Mycroft about her.

Recovering quickly, Sherlock felt the smile return to his face. "Would you care to dance, Tulip?" he asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Thought you'd never ask, _Billy_."

His eyes widened as they took in the amusement on her face, once again the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her teeth. Of course she knew some of his own secrets, but whether from Mycroft or her own research only time would tell. And he intended to enjoy finding out.

Once they were standing together on the dance floor and surrounded by the swell of music, Sherlock pulled Rose close, leaning his head so that his lips were hovering just above her ear. "Don't call me 'Billy,'" he whispered just before he spun her around on the dance floor, relishing in the sound of her laughter.

_Yes_, he decided, ignoring the pointed looks from his brother and instead focusing on the way she simply fit so perfectly in his arms. _This was definitely going to be fun._

_~~~Fin~~~_

**A/N: Typical plea for reviews... they are always appreciated, so please make my day? Thank you!**


	6. A Woman's Perogative

**A/N: Hello dear readers and a happy Fanfiction Friday to you! So here we have another one-shot for your reading pleasure... this one inspired by a prompt from my lovely beta, TheWheelWeaves, on tumblr:**

_I've a prompt for you Swaddled 'verse that actually comes from a question I thought of concerning Swaddled itself: were Rose and Sherlock married when they found out Jackie was on the way? How did Violet (Mummy-Holmes) take the news? Did they have to throw together a fast wedding to make everyone happy?_

**So, the timing of this starts off as almost a prequel to _Swaddled in Pink_, but then jumps to a more in-depth view of that story, the one that started it all. Hopefully you all enjoy!  
**

~~~0~~~0~~~0~~~

"Is this really necessary?" Sherlock asked again, glaring at the place setting Rose had set in front of his customary seat at the kitchen table. "And where is my lab equipment?"

"Gone," Rose replied, turning back to the stove. Cooking had never been her forte, but she was determined that this evening's meal be a success.

Sherlock turned to face her, surprised. "What do you mean 'gone?'" Realizing that Rose was pointedly ignoring him in favour of the recipe on the tablet beside her, he frowned. "It has to be somewhere, Rose."

"Behave tonight, and maybe you'll get it back."

"What did you-"

"Hand me the cream, please."

Huffing out his indignation, Sherlock opened the refrigerator door intending to remove the cream as requested. Instead though, he stood there staring at the empty shelves, his mouth agape. "_Everything_, Rose?"

"I'm not having your mum 'round to find miscellaneous extremities in my fridge. The cream?"

"I still don't see why we have to have her '_round_ at all," Sherlock muttered, handing Rose the requested ingredient.

"It's what people do, Sherlock. When they have exciting news, they share it with family."

Sherlock stretched his jaw, trying to work some feeling back into the joint, once everyone had finally left. Despite the fact that his parents, Mycroft, John, and Mary, had been there, he found that he kept smiling like an idiot all through dinner.

"It pains me to say it, but do you think he's finally right?"

Rose looked over at Sherlock from the sink where she had just set the dishes to soak. "What?"

"Mycroft."

"I'm sorry," Rose said, a slow grin lighting up her face. "Did you just say that your brother was right about something?"

"No," Sherlock argued, entering the kitchen with the last of the coffee cups. "I asked _if_ he was right. There's a difference, Rose."

Rose stifled a giggle at his serious expression. "Right about what then?"

"We're having a baby."

"I'm aware."

"Maybe…" Sherlock trailed off, setting the cups in the sink and pulling her to lean back against his chest as he rested his hands on her (still flat) stomach. "Maybe it is time to get married then."

"No."

Rose immediately stepped out of his embrace and focused her attention back to the dishes, unaware of the confused look that Sherlock was giving her.

~~~0~~~0~~~0~~~

"Please tell me you didn't, Sherlock," John begged.

"What? People propose all the time for stupid reasons," Sherlock argued, unable to see what was wrong with his actions. "I simply asked at an appropriate time whether she wished to wed!"

"That's not what she told Mary."

Sherlock was genuinely shocked by this. He ran over their conversation - yet again - in his mind, and still could not recall anything that he did wrong. "What could Rose have possibly told Mary that was any different?"

"For starters, that you said it was Mycroft's idea."

"But it was-"

"Not exactly romantic." At the blank expression on his friend's face, John knew he would be forced to go into additional detail. "Women want to feel appreciated, special, loved. You asked her out of obligation and a sense of duty. It doesn't have to be some grand, romantic gesture- Wait. Yes, for you, try that. Go out of your comfort zone." _If for no other reason than the story later on_, he silently added.

Sherlock scowled, but decided not to argue the point. Although he questioned John's advice, he had to accept that at least it was coming from someone who had some sort of knowledge on the subject. Perhaps there was something to it.

~~~0~~~0~~~0~~~

"I swear, Sherlock Holmes, once this thing is out of me, I will kill you!"

Rose was panting with the effort of simply _not _pushing. No matter what they said in all of the classes, nothing could have prepared her for the pain of contractions.

"No," she hissed out through clenched teeth. "I… I don't want…"

"What? What is it?" While it pained Sherlock both physically (_How was she able to crush all of the bones in his hand?_) and mentally to have no control over the situation, he knew that he would do whatever she wanted to make her feel better.

"I changed my mind."

"Right," Sherlock nodded. "Of course. We'll get you the epidur-"

"Not that, idiot." Rose had made the very conscious decision to refuse any drugs or gases during the labour process. While a small part of her regretted that decision the moment that her first real contraction set in, she had no intention of going back on her word at this point even if she could. "Ask me again."

"What?" At the moment, the only question that Sherlock could think of was to confirm that she actually wanted the child. And, given where they currently stood (or were lying down), it was hardly possible to change her mind right now. "I hardly think that 8cm is the appropriate time-"

"God you are daft." Rose took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and relishing in the fact that she was free from absolute blinding pain for the next 2 minutes or so. The continual sharp discomfort she could deal with. "The other thing. Ask. Me. Again."

Sherlock stared at her blankly for a moment before a look of dawning comprehension gradually lit up his features.

_60 seconds_.

Pulling a well-worn velvet box from his pocket with one hand, Sherlock smiled down at Rose as he brushed back the hair that was sticking to her sweat-drenched forehead with the other. "You mean this?"

With her jaw clenched, Rose looked from his face to the monitor and back again. "'Bout 30 seconds, so get cracking."

"Rose Tyler," he began. "Would you do me the honour of becoming my-"

Sherlock's question was cut off by a gut-wrenching scream from Rose as the next contraction peaked - again - in earnest. "Yes," she grunted out, quickly grabbing his hand and squeezing with everything she had in her.

It was all Sherlock could do not to cry out in pain himself at her vice-like grip. Instead, he compartmentalized the pain and attempted to breathe with her. "To be clear, you agreed this time?"

Rose had to admit that it was a fair question given that she had turned him down nearly a dozen times over the course of the last 8 months. She nodded and attempted to smile, although she was quite sure that it probably appeared as little more than a grimace. "Yes," she agreed. "But now."

"Now what?"

"We get married. Now."

Sherlock paled. Yes, he had brought the engagement ring with him to the hospital. If he was honest, he carried it with him always, just in case he found another opportunity to ask and Rose might be so inclined as to actually agree. He hadn't anticipated her to jump directly from engagement to wedding though.

"I don't think that is possible-"

"No wedding, no baby, Sherlock. It's that simple."

Rose winced as another contraction peaked, missing both the dumbfounded look on Sherlock's face and the doctor that had just entered the room to check on her progression.

"Not to worry," the doctor said, mistaking Sherlock's silence for concern. "Everything looks good, and you should be able to push soon."

"Not gonna happen," Rose replied through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry?"

"Bring. Me. Mike."

The doctor looked from Rose to Sherlock, confused. "Visitors at this stage really aren't allowed-"

"Mycroft. Holmes. Now."

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in question toward Rose, ignoring the doctor who was shuffling out of the room. Although he knew that his brother would prefer to be anywhere but in the labour and delivery room, he also knew that the man would not deny Rose's request. What, exactly, she hoped to accomplish from his presence was baffling.

If there was one thing that made Mycroft Holmes uncomfortable - other than outward displays of affection - it was hospitals. He could think of no good thing to come from them, and avoided entering one as much as possible. Even when Sherlock had been at death's door he refused to visit, despite the fact that losing his brother would have killed him (though he was loath to admit it).

This, of course, was something that his mother constantly reminded him of, despite his countless attempts at avoidance. So when the time came for his first (_would there be more?_) niece or nephew to arrive, he was not likely to miss it. Beside which Rose had told him in no uncertain terms that unless he had a "legitimate" reason such as the start of World War III, she would never forgive his absence. And even then it would take time.

All of that aside, Mycroft never had any intention of being present for the actual birth of the child. Sitting and drinking stale tea with his parents, John, and Mary was more than enough to satisfy his attendance requirement. So,when the doctor appeared in the waiting area and informed everyone that the baby still hadn't arrived and that his presence was not only requested, but rather insisted upon, he was rightfully terrified.

"Surely Mother or even Mary would be better suited to-"

"She asked for you, Mike," Violet chided. "Now shift."

Biting back the retort that he normally would have thrown out in response, Mycroft nodded and followed the doctor through the double-doors wondering what Rose and his brother could possibly want with him.

Sherlock was truly worried about Rose's frame of mind. They were nearing the proverbial finish line, with the doctor insisting that she could be ready to push any time now. However, she flat out refused to do so, insisting that she would not give birth until they were wed- something that hadn't mattered to her at all before now.

"Rose, please," he pleaded, hoping that she would ultimately see reason.

Her jaw was locked into place, and the sweat was increasing across her brow, but even so she shook her head, her eyes closed until the sound of new footsteps and the door caused her to open them.

"Mike," she sighed in relief. Finally, someone had come who would listen to reason.

Unfortunately, Sherlock seemed to share this opinion, hoping that Mycroft (and his obvious discomfort) would convince her that she was being ridiculous. That is, until Rose uttered the only two words that could possibly sway him.

"You win."

Mycroft had no idea what to expect when he entered the labour and delivery room. He hoped with every fiber of his being that he wouldn't see anything… inappropriate. Rose was very dear to him, and seeing her in pain was not something that he was prepared to handle. Nevermind the other unpleasantness that he could have witnessed. However, hearing her tell him that he had won some unspoken argument jarred him back to his senses.

"Beg pardon?"

"You win. File the papers. Marry us."

It was true that from the moment Sherlock had informed him that Rose was to move to Baker Street, he had insisted that the two should get married. He couldn't help it, he was very traditional in this regard. When he found out that he was going to be an uncle, he could only redouble his efforts to convince the pair that it was necessary. However, he found himself rebuffed at every corner.

Rose explicitly rejected his opinion, and although he knew that Sherlock had repeatedly asked for her hand, he also knew that she had refused each time. She was very much her own person, and didn't want to be someone's obligation. It appeared that she had changed her mind now though .

"May I ask why?" Mycroft asked, ignoring the glare from his brother, but also looking anywhere in the room other than at Rose.

"You were right, okay?" Rose hissed. "I don't want my baby to have a different name than me. We are one family, all of us."

"These things take time, you know," he argued, looking from Sherlock (who seemed just as distressed as he did) to the doctor, who simply shook his head.

"I know you, and I know you can make this happen. You've had the forms sitting in your drafts folder for nearly a year, just waiting to get your way," Rose argued, taking very slow, deep breaths. "So I peeked, kill me," shHe said in response to his confused look.

Frowning at the fact that she had hacked into his personal email account, Mycroft still struggled to form a reasonable argument that never came. "Even if I agree, we will need to find an officiant-"

"How long?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft was about to reply when he realized that Sherlock wasn't talking to him. He turned away as the doctor went to check on Rose's progression. "Rose, you're completely dilated. You're going to need to push very soon, could be an hour or two, could be less."

"Sherlock," Mycroft appealed. "Is this really how you want to-"

"Don't you dare, Mycroft Holmes," Rose hissed, then groaned suddenly at the next wave of contractions.

Sherlock, for his part, closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. "Do it."

"Best be quick, yeah?"

Mycroft sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock kissed the top of Rose's head. "I'll be right back," he assured her before following his brother into the corridor.

"This is madness, you know that," Mycroft accused without preamble.

Sherlock nodded, unable to argue. "It is, but it means something to her. To us."

"Do you really think that it is wise?"

"Honestly, I think you're complaining about something that you've wanted longer than I have. Now, the clock is ticking, brother-mine. If you're only going to waste time, then I will see what-"

"Oh, shut up," Mycroft snapped. "I'll handle it."

It had been twenty minutes, and Mycroft had not yet returned to Rose's bedside with an update although the doctor had said she had progressed faster than expected.

"Sherlock," Rose panted. "Please, find what's taking so long?"

Sherlock could only nod in response, unsure of what to say to change her mind. Taking a step toward the door, he was surprised to find resistance though- she had grabbed the back of his shirt to prevent his leaving.

"No," she cried. "Don't _go_. I need you here."

"I need to find him-"

"_Call_."

It was three calls, a text message, and a quick progress check with the doctor ("_The baby is very nearly in position, Rose!"_) before Mycroft finally answered the phone.

"I found you a cleric, Sherlock," Mycroft informed him. "However, he is still another 30 minutes out - it is, after all, quite last minute."

One look at Sherlock's face was all that Rose needed to understand that the news wasn't what she had been hoping. "Put him on speaker. Mike," she commanded, panting with the effort of not pushing. "Get a priest, a rabbi, or a bloody Hare Krishna. I don't care. Just as long as they make it legal. Now."

Despite the nature of the request that Rose and Sherlock had made of him, Mycroft made the very conscious decision _not_ to inform his parents (or John and Mary) of what he was up to. If he was to be honest with himself, he half hoped that they would change their minds before it became 'a thing' for his parents to insert themselves into, as they no doubt would. Instead, he simply brushed off their questions and stepped into the corridor to make the necessary inquiries.

From what he had gathered at this latest demand, Rose was running out of time and therefore he was running out of options. Unfortunately, there was a reason that Mycroft went into the line of work that he did: he had no patience for _domestics_. Generally speaking, he had someone onto whom he was able to pawn off such tedious tasks. This time, however, she had failed him. And failure wasn't something to be tolerated.

Checking his watch, Mycroft nearly growled when he saw that there was still another 20 minutes before his cleric was to arrive. He honestly had no idea what he would do if he let Rose down. He had no doubt that this scenario could never produce the wedding that she deserved (_not that marrying Sherlock was likely to do so anyway_) but if it was what they both wanted, he would come through for them.

Of course this was _before _he received yet another text from Sherlock.

_They said it's time. She needs to do this. Where are you? -SH_

Sherlock dropped the mobile on the chair in the corner of the room and took his place back at Rose's side, bracing her arm with his own.

"Alright, Rose," the doctor said. "I think that someone is anxious to meet you!"

Shaking her head, Rose no longer fought the tears. "No, please. Not yet," she begged. "We're not ready."

"It'll be fine, Rose," Sherlock attempted to reassure her, stroking her hair gently. "I don't mind."

"Okay, Rose. Just give us a push now."

Rose felt betrayed by her body. In her head, she knew that she wanted- no, needed- to wait. But the reaction of her body was instinctual. She couldn't _not_ do it. Instead, a harsh, guttural scream escaped her lips as she felt like she was torn in two. Before she could make sense of the feeling though, it was gone, the contraction over.

"Rest, and then we'll go again in a few minutes," the doctor smiled.

Once again, Rose shook her head. She looked up at Sherlock, imploring, but he was at a loss. He simply kissed the top of her head and continued to assure her that everything would be alright until the cycle continued and the process, once again, repeated itself.

It was after trying to push (and yet not) for the third time that the door to the room flew open and Mycroft hurried in, quickly averting his eyes from the scene before him, as an older gentleman followed him.

"Mike," Rose sighed, exhausted but relieved.

"Goodness!" the newest arrival exclaimed. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Less order, more matter," Mycroft barked.

Even in her stress induced state Rose was unable to let that pass. "Rude," she hissed. "Thank you so much for coming."

"Not at all, my dear." He smiled kindly, walking forward to take her hand in his as if this was an everyday scenario that he faced. "Reverend Williams."

"Rose Tyler. And this is- ahh!"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock supplied, although his attention was completely on Rose, who once again was fighting not to push.

"Perhaps it would be best to move forward," the doctor suggested from his place at Rose's feet. "There really isn't much time."

"Yes, yes. Of course." The reverend waited a moment longer, until Rose was able to rest again, before addressing Mycroft and the nurse in the room. "You will both serve as witnesses?" At their assent, he smiled and turned his attention back to Rose and Sherlock. "The abridged version, perhaps?"

"That would be ideal," Sherlock agreed as Rose nodded.

"Well, in that case, right to it. Welcome to what will serve as two of the most important moments in the lives of this couple. Marriage is a conscious act of will, strength, courage, patience, and a sense of humor. So, moving on, neither of you know of any lawful impediment why you may not be joined in matrimony?"

"No," both Rose and Sherlock replied.

"Very good. Rings?"

"Just the one," Sherlock said, indicating the engagement ring still in its box.

"No problem. Skip to the vows. Speak from the heart."

As Rose was unable to speak for the moment, Sherlock decided he would go first. He lowered his head toward his bride, and smiled.

"I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take you, Rose Marion Tyler, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and stay with you, for all eternity."

Rose couldn't help but be touched by the words he had said. She had always known Sherlock to be a closet romantic, but to hear him say these things- out loud, and in front of his brother no less!- made her love him all the more.

"Thought about this a bit, yeah? Well I, Rose, take you, Sher- oh, God!" She interrupted herself as the urge to push became more than she could resist. "What he said. Reverse it. I do, I do, I do," she repeated, saying the words in time with her forced breathing.

Sherlock turned to the reverend. "Are we good?"

"As long as no one has any objections," the reverend replied, pausing as required by law. "Then I now declare you to be husband and wife. You may kiss your bride and, it would seem, welcome your child!"

~~~0~~~0~~~0~~~

**A/N: Typical plea for reviews... This may have ended up focusing more on Mycroft than Violet, but that's okay. I think. And if you want to know the "end" of this particular one-shot, go re-read the ****_Swaddled in Pink_****. It's there.**


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